


A Snake's Foot

by CoffeeTeaAndMe (kurofu)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Character Death, Cult!au, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 23:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15448179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/pseuds/CoffeeTeaAndMe
Summary: “Did you really think that you would escape?” The voice harsh and filled with lust, unlike its normal seductive baritone.“Did you think I would let you go?”“N-no, no,” He shook his head in despair, tears streaming, “No, NO!”“Shh, shh. It’s okay, I’m here with you,” The devil cooed, brushing back his sweat matted hair. The devil’s tongue lapped at his tears, mixing it with his blood, a concoction the devil loved. “It’s okay, Harry. You’ll never have to leave me, you know that right? Because you'remine.”





	A Snake's Foot

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will not be a nice fic. It is a dark fic. I may have not added in all the tags, but you have been warned. 
> 
> I repeat, this fic is a dark fic.
> 
> Oh and, I'm planning on trying to post once a month too. Think of this a teaser currently, if you will.
> 
> Beta'd by: Caty

Sharp razor leaves sliced into his skin, leaving behind thin trails of blood, as he ran past jutting branches. One scratches near his eyes, making him flinch. He stumbled. Face hovering above the forest floor before he caught himself, and took off once more. 

The forest was too loud. No, that wasn't quite right; the forest was quiet, as it should be during the night. His blood was too loud, beating harshly against the thin walls in his ears; pulsing a steady rhythm of fear. He could distantly hear the harsh breathing that accompanied small white breaths, or the dull drumming of bare feet on moist soil.

Another branch snagged on his thin coat, unsuitable for the winter night, a reminder of what he’s running from. He looked up at the sky, peering through tree gaps to glimpse the waning moon. It's position drifting ever so slowly leftward, a contrast to his pressed time. Of course the moon wouldn't care, the heavenly body thousands of miles above, unaffected by mortal whims.

His coat was snagged again, yanking him backwards brutally, stopping his escape. He pulled harshly against the sleeve, uncaring if it tore, all he needed was to _flee_. As he did so, he questioned why he brought it with him; it was too loose, hindering his progress. He should have never worn it out, but it had to be convincing, that he was following routine. He was only following routine, he echoed, a mantra that would become truth if stated enough. Yet he could not lie to himself. Deep down he knew it was sentiment that made him keep the sheer garment. A sentiment for the very devil that he was escaping from. He hastily pushed it out of mind, focusing on the task at hand.

With a final vicious tug, he was free, and he wasted no time, running faster to make up for lost precious time. He had to flee, now more so than ever, he had thought about _him_. And _he_ would use it as a beacon, a tracker to find him. He—

He fumbled when the ground trembled, and his eyes widened. _They_ were coming.

His gait was uneven as he ran on shaking ground, the forest floor quaking in a rhythmic pattern. _Thump… Thump…_ The thundering of thousands of fluid ghostly hooves behind him, preternatural like their general.

And when a deep howl sounded, the first among many, reverberating throughout the whole forest—rattling his _bones_ —he felt fear, all encompassing fear. 

The hounds! They sent the hounds! He panicked and stumbled into a tree trunk, barely keeping himself upright. They sent the _hounds_ , was he that important, or was he discardable?

No longer was he calm, his hands shook on the tree, fingers digging into bark. His heart pounded, threatening to burst, too much adrenaline he noted distractedly. With the hounds out, his chance of escaping dropped—but he was near the edge. He could faintly see lights peeking through, a sign of civilization different than the barbarians behind him. 

He gritted his teeth, steeling his resolve. His hands squeezed the bark once more, wood piercing through flesh, before he pushed off. He was determined to finish the last stretch to freedom.

Yet his progress began to falter.

He began to trip, his bare soles landing unevenly on small stones, scraping his feet bloody. Vines—or was it branches?—reached out for him, pulling on his thin robes. The soft soil began to suck in his feet, like quicksand, slowing his speed. And a jutted root caught his foot, slamming him face first into dead leaves. 

He stayed there dazed, breathing in dirt and rotten musk. Then he noticed the silence. There was no sound, no hooves, no howling, only the pounding of his own ears. He didn't dare breath, in fear that the silence was fake. 

But the longer he stayed, and the calmer he got, he found that there was no sound, only him. He breathed out his breath and gave a small deprecated laugh. He shook his head as he pushed himself up, twisting to reach his trapped foot. How stupid of him to actually believe that anything was chasing him. The hooves pound he heard were only the blood in his ears, amplified by his adrenaline-sensitive hearing. He spent too much time with the lunatics back there. Yeah, they were only lunatics; nothing more, nothing less. They would only find out that he escaped in the morning. There was nothing supernatural here, nothing. Right?

And when only silence met him, he knew that he was correct. There was no such thing as magic, no matter how much those psychos tried to tell him otherwise.

He let out another laugh, this time louder than the first. He wiped the cold sweat hanging on his brow, before accessing the wooden trap. When he reached for it, he noticed how much his hands trembled, and he only shook his head in relief. Oh, how paranoid he was! Yet he never looked up. His instincts ingrained to never look back, not because of the past he was about to escape, but because his lizard brain hissed at him. 

There was a bigger predator out there. Just behind him, and it _roared_.

His head snapped up, eyes wide at the darkness in front of him. A mistake that he should have never done. In his surprise, his leg jerked upwards, breaking the root trapping him. Immediately, he turned around, ankle throbbing, crawling and keeping his head down. He scrambled on the ground as fast as he could, one foot dragging behind. The light was close, he was near, he could make it! He cou—

Whistling wind was his only warning before a heavy mass landed on his back. A rock underneath his chest punched the air out of him when his body crumpled.

Long, cold fingers wound their way to his neck, and he struggled. But then it squeezed, hard enough to leave bruises and lose the sparse amount of air he recovered. He choked, gasping for air, his hands scrambled behind him, scratching at the arm that blocked his airways. Black spots began to swim, and darkness slowly encroached his vision, and—the pressure loosened. He hastily gulped in sweet air, hacking and coughing as he did so. The hand on his neck squeezed once more, and he stilled, a warning, before releasing in favor for the nape of his neck.

A cold nose slid down his neck, nuzzling at the base. He leaned his head away, trying to get away; in response the hold on his neck tightened, and he stilled. The devil behind him hummed in approval before breathing deeply at the juncture. He tried to suppress his shiver of disgust, but it still shook his body. The demon only laughed.

“Did you really think that you would escape?” The voice harsh and filled with lust, unlike its normal seductive baritone.

He only whimpered in response. The hand moved again, back to the front, like a collar. The nose left, but in its place were lips, cold and sneering. It kissed him, before they dragged up to the back of his ear. The devil pressed his nose there, another inhale and a harsh nibble to the meat of his ears.

“Did you think I would let you go?”

The hand on his neck glided upwards, forcing him to tilt his head back, a cradle to his jaw. He struggled in the hold, jaws locked tight. He hated this position, the devil knew that. His head jerked when he felt a rough, moist tongue on his cheek, leaving a wet trail from ear to cheekbone. But he was distantly aware of the sensation, more focused on his sole light in front of him.

It swayed. Like a flame beneath a breeze. However, that wasn't what caught his attention, no—the light was _moving_. It moved closer, then retreated, to the left, before swooping back. As if the light noticed his staring, it stopped. Its luminance flickered, like a—a _wink_ , then it _bowed_ before snuffing out. 

He stared at it in disbelief, unable to comprehend. But when he did—“N-no, no,” He shook his head in despair, tears streaming, “No, NO!”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, I’m here with you,” The devil cooed, brushing back his sweat matted hair. The devil’s tongue lapped at his tears, mixing it with his blood, a concoction the devil loved. “It’s okay, Harry. You’ll never have to leave me, you know that right? Because you're _mine_.”

——-

_10 Years Prior_

Harry looked at the envelope in his hand, feeling the heavy weight of it in his palm.

_Mr H. Potter_  
_Legacy’s Orphan Home_

He flipped it over, fingers shaking as he felt the wax seal. A coat of arms. 

He sucked in a shaky breath before hastily tearing the envelope open, pulling out the letter with gentleness that he did not use before. He let the envelope fall to the floor, too engrossed in the writings and he felt an excited grin split his face.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_You have been selected as one of the 1500 orphans to attend Hogwarts School of Genii and Intellectuals under scholarship due to your outstanding academic results._


End file.
